


Original Sin

by Umi_no_arawashi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umi_no_arawashi/pseuds/Umi_no_arawashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Post-Hogwarts, written before Deathly  Hallows. War has broken out between the Death Eaters and the other wizards, and has been going on for a while. Draco has deserted Voldemort’s side and is in a relationship with Harry. Lucius Malfoy has fallen from grace, accused of lack of loyalty by some of the other Death Eaters, and is currently awaiting punishment in a cell in Voldemort’s fortress.<br/>Strong warnings apply for non-con, incest and Lucius being Lucius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Original Sin

**Author's Note:**

> _This fic carries strong warnings for incest and rape. Lucius point of view. Meant to be a character study of a potentially redeemable yet truly disturbing Lucius._
> 
> _One-shot._
> 
> _Many thanks to galndrael for helping me work up the nerve to post this._

He wrapped what was left of his shirt around him protectively, belatedly trying conceal the traces of what they had done to him. 

“Good morning, father,” he said, the resentment plain in his voice. 

I could not think of anything remotely cogent to say. His eyes were searching for mine and I looked away. It was fairly embarrassing to think my reunion with Draco would take place here, in a dungeon where I was held prisoner. 

“Draco," I said, trying sound for all the world as if this was a chance meeting at a garden party.

“I have to say I’m quite surprised to find you here,” he sneered. “Did your beloved Dark Lord finally get tired of you?” He grinned mirthlessly, a ghoulish sight, with the blood from Bella’s last blow tainting his lips. He wiped some of it off with the back of his hand. “You don’t deserve any more than this, you lying son of a …”

“Silence. You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Draco.”

“Don’t I?” He raised himself to his full height. “Don’t I, father? Why do you think I left, then?”

“I am not going to discuss this with you,” I snapped, with more force than I’d intended. “I have no intention of justifying my choice, especially to you, or of listening to your pathetic views on the subject, you little traitor.” He recoiled as though I had just slapped him. I regretted those words almost instantly, but could find no way to undo them. 

I sat back on the floor, looking fixedly at the opposite wall, my face fixed in what I hoped was a menacing scowl. After a while, from the corner of my eye, I saw him slide down to the floor as well. We sat there in silence, waiting for the other one to speak. 

Pride, of course, has always been at the same time one of the great strengths and one of the worst weaknesses of my bloodline. Hours elapsed. Gradually, the light from the small window faded. The wall on which I had focused my attention all afternoon lost all colour, and all definition as the day turned to dusk, then almost complete darkness. I heard Draco shift a few times, then fall utterly silent again. 

I wondered idly whether our captors had made any kind of provisions for our dinner, but as the hours passed, it appeared more and more obvious that we were not going to get fed that night. The utter impotence of my situation, that debilitating feeling of vulnerability hit me with full force then, and for the first time since the start of this I started to feel truly afraid. I was, after all, fully dependent on the Dark Lord’s whim, and he could very easily chose to have the two of us starve to death in here. 

I looked to Draco then, as though instinctively searching for reassurance in a familiar shape. He had, to my surprise, fallen asleep, curled up on the floor, his pitiful rags gathered around him tightly. His lips were blue with cold and as I looked he shivered in his sleep fitfully. I had barely noticed the cold myself, beneath the thick woollen cloak I was wearing. I sighed and regretfully undid the clasp that held it closed at my throat. 

The following morning, when I woke up from a remarkably unpleasant dream, Draco walked over to me and handed me back my cloak wordlessly. 

“Keep it, you fool,” I said. “Look at what you’re wearing, for Merlin’s sake.”

He flushed angrily. “I hardly chose to be dressed like this, father.”

“And do you think I ever wanted to see my own son in such a state?” In the morning light, he looked appallingly dishevelled, red marks standing out starkly on his white skin, bearing witness of exactly how ill-used he had been. 

“It’s not my fault!” he said, turning a deeper shade of crimson under my gaze. 

“You sound like a petulant child.” I remarked calmly. 

He threw the cloak to the floor. “I hate you, father,” he whispered. “How could you… how could you let them…” His breath hitched in a sob. He raised his hands to his eyes, futilely attempting to conceal his tears. On instinct, I got to my feet and took him in my arms, my love for him flooding back to me. I never could stand watching him cry, ever since he was a child.

He shuddered then nestled against me, frail and warm as a wounded bird, breaking down into deep sobs. I stroked his shoulder and held him close. He started talking, telling me everything he felt he needed to say, and I let his words wash over me. The details mattered very little. The only thing that possessed any relevance to my eyes now was this feeling as I held him, deeper that anything I had every felt for anyone, of sorrow, regret, and love. In that moment he was the only being that mattered to me, dearer to me than my own existence. 

When was the last time I had held him like this? I never considered physical demonstrations of affection to be entirely appropriate between father and son. My role, as I saw it, was to guide, encourage or reprimand as needed, and accordingly I tended to leave the more sentimental side of things to the child’s mother. It never meant, though, that I felt nothing for him. 

My petty quarrel with my charming Master took on another turn, there. It was no longer a simple question of the delicate balance of power, this was now a matter of flesh and blood. That Draco was a traitor I could understand, certainly, but still the way he had been treated rankled deeply. This was not, after all, some nameless muggle or some worthless offspring of an impure bloodline, this was my son. I could not easily forgive what the Dark Lord had done there. And I could not forgive what he had done to me. Of course, to him, loyalty was everything, it has always been, but this went further than the simple testing of allegiance, this was war. I could not possibly let my own son, myself, be treated in that way. 

Draco was still weeping against me as I reflected upon the senseless madness my life had become under the guidance of that man. I pulled Draco away from me and smoothed his brow, trying to instill some calm into him. The pressure of the past few days had been far too much for him, I could see that, and his babbling had taken on a worryingly hysterical note.

“It’s all right, Draco,” I said, struggling to find a tone of voice that might comfort him. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Did you listen to what I was saying? Do you _know_ what they did to me?”

I nodded reassuringly. I had not listened to the details very attentively, but the general picture seemed clear. 

“Father… They… _He_. He gave me to them. He gave me to Goyle’s father.. and he.. he let Gregory have me, Father!” That hysterical note was back in his voice. 

Gregory Goyle. Of course, I remembered him. One of my son’s loyal friends at school. Goyle Senior, naturally, was one of the Dark Lord’s trusted servants. 

“What do you mean, Draco, he let Gregory have you?” I asked. 

Draco turned a deep crimson, avoiding my eyes. “He…” his voice faltered. 

“What, Draco?”

“Gregory… raped me, father,” he answered in a slightly shaky voice. “His father as well.”

My blood froze. My hands tightened convulsively with rage around Draco’s shoulders and he let out a startled cry. “What did you just say?” I asked.

“It’s not my fault, father,” he said. 

Oddly, I could feel the unfamiliar sting of tears rising to my eyes – I, who had not cried for at least thirty years. The unfairness of it was insurmountable. That they would hurt him, I could understand. That they could want to defile him in that way… that was unbearable.

But what he needed from me wasn't tears or compassion. This was my son, my heir, not some hurt little girl looking for a hug from her dear papa. Coddling him would only make this worse, rob him of what little strength he had left. I already regretted having had the weakness to give in to his tears and holding him. 

"Draco, for Merlin's sake, pull yourself together," I said coldly. It cost me. The searing pain legible in his eyes for the barest moment cut like a knife. "These things happen in a war. Especially, I might add, when one has the unbelievable stupidity to join the losing side and then further compounds it by managing to be taken prisoner." 

He flushed in anger, which had been exactly the sentiment I had wanted to elicit. "Go to hell," he hissed.

I backhanded him once, hard. To be perfectly truthful, my anger wasn't entirely directed at him, but there was no one else here to take the brunt of my rage. I, the Dark Lord's right hand, was under suspicion. I was imprisoned. And I hadn’t even been able to protect my own son from this. 

Either he was weaker than I had realized, or I'd been slightly more forceful than I'd wanted, because he staggered and fell to his knees. 

"You will show some respect. I am still your father."

He didn't say anything, just stayed there on the floor, breathing harshly. But his eyes were full of rage, a beautiful pure anger that was much better than the glazed, absent look he'd had when telling me what they had done to him. I struggled to find something comforting to say to him. "It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't make you any less of a man."

He stared at me. "Any less of a... Oh, for fuck's sake, father! You do realize I'm gay, don't you?"

I restrained a movement of surprise. Certainly, I myself had had a... phase, one might say, when I had been at school, and girls had felt annoyingly prudish and out of reach. But this was different.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're not."

He got to his feet, a defiant gleam in his eyes. "I most certainly am. And the thing is, father, I really don't think you get a say in this.”

“So being a traitor wasn’t quite enough for you, was it?”

His lips were a set in a thin, angry line. “I don’t really expect you to understand. But you might as well know. I have a boyfriend.” 

“A boyfriend,” I sneered. “How cute.”

“Yes, and I’ve been seeing him for a year now.”

“Since you ran away, in other words.”

“Since I left.” He looked up at me and hesitated visibly for a second. Clearly, he wasn’t quite as confident as he wanted to look. “It’s… Harry, father.”

For the first few seconds the name meant nothing to me. “Harry?”

“Harry Potter, father.” 

I leaned against the wall for support. Once again, I found myself at a total loss for words. This was far too much to absorb, particularly on an empty stomach. I felt positively faint, a condition I detested above any other. I have never liked weakness, in others or in myself. 

“Wonderful. When in Hades are they going to bring us something to eat?” I barked. 

Draco stared at me and then started smiling. With the dried blood on his face from the previous night and the streaks left by his tears, it was a most incongruous sight.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I can’t believe you, father.”

I crossed my arms on my chest. “Well, I am hungry.”

“I tell you I’m sleeping with Harry Potter and this is how you react?”

“What exactly do you want me to say? Congratulations, I'm sure you two make a lovely couple?” 

“No. I don’t know what I expected, but… not that. Although it’s just typical. You only ever think of your own needs, don’t you?”

"Indeed. Unlike yourself, I suppose. You're the one who abandoned your own family, your own kind, and for what? For some unseemly relationship with some half-blood?"

"Enough! Enough with the blood, enough with the purity of wizardkind. It's all you ever taught me. And every single word of it is lies. You know as well as I do Tom Riddle was - is - a half-blood."

I smiled. "Yes, he is. But we are not, Draco. The Blacks and the Malfoys are amongst the purest lines in England. And I will not have you associate with the son of a filthy mudblood."

"Well, at least you won't have to worry about filthy half-blood grandchildren," he said dryly.

He did have a fairly good point there. 

Naturally, this was the exact moment my lovely confederates chose to intrude on this heartwarming familial reunion, interrupting what had been possibly the most intimate conversation between Draco and myself for years. As a result, as they led us to my Lord's chambers, I was, to be honest, a lot more irritated than scared. Hardly logical, in the circumstances, but I'd have liked to have a little time to digest Draco's announcement.

The Dark Lord was in his council room, a large, round columned monstrosity I had often reflected was a little overwrought. Do understand me, my own tastes tend to run towards the dramatic as well, but there is such a thing as too many snakes.

The entire inner circle was there. Masked, of course. Fairly pointless, given the fact their masks were just as well known to me as their faces, but with my dear Master, all came down to setting the mood.

Naturally, they had us stand in the middle of the circle. Draco, I noted with deep satisfaction, now looked calmly composed, shoulders set, his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord's. Remembering how he had sobbed and shuddered in my arms only a few moments before, I let myself be filled with dark, savage pride. No matter what, my son and I wouldn't let ourselves be broken that easily.

I bowed, in what I hoped was a sufficiently contrite and obedient manner.

"Lucius," hissed my Master, somehow managing to make even my own name repulsive to my ears.

"My Lord," I replied. The evenness of my voice seemed to displease him. I should probably have tried to sound more fearful.

"As you can see, we have finally managed to catch the traitor."

"Indeed, my Lord. And may I offer my sincerest congratulations on the occasion?"

"Silence, Lucius."

Despite my posturing, something atavistic in me cringed at those words, some small mammalian thing cowering in front of a hissing snake. I fell silent.

"The traitor needs to be punished. And your loyalty, Lucius, your loyalty is in sore need of testing." He smiled coldly. "Therefore, I shall give you a choice."

The full force of his anger wouldn't have scared me quite as much as that smile did. I could hear Draco's laboured breathing next to me - he also had had enough experience with the Dark Lord to fear his games.

"You can kill this traitor, right here, in front of all of us." This I had been expecting. It meant death for me and Draco, since this was an order I couldn't obey. He paused - of course he did, he was clearly enjoying this immensely. "Or, if you think he might be more useful alive, then prove it to me. Show me how he should be used. Kill him. Or use him. Here, in front of me." 

Everything went white for a second. I believe I actually staggered back in shock for an instant.

"My Lord, I..." This time, I couldn't keep the panic out of my voice.

His eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't advise making me wait for your decision, Lucius." 

There was really no decision to make and no reason to ponder. On one side death, on the other not. Though I was well aware of what my charming master meant by "use". He could be strangely coy with words, quite old-fashioned, really.

_Fuck him_ , is what he meant. Though he'd never use the word.

"I've made my choice," I said, and grabbing Draco by the arm, I pulled him to me and crushed his lips with mine. Draco went limp with surprise - or horror, possibly - then pushed me away violently.

“No, father, you can’t possibly…”

“Do you want to die, Draco?” I told him, keeping my voice cold. I was hoping he would quickly come to the obvious conclusion. Do this one thing and live. Refuse and die.

"Good, Lucius, I was hoping you would come to that decision. This promises to be most entertaining," said my Master, settling back into his high winged chair.

Draco was staring blankly at me, shocked beyond words. I could see the panic rise in him, and it was dangerous. He had to understand, to cooperate, or he would be lost. I slapped him once, hard, so hard my hand stung painfully. His eyes finally focused on mine. I could not afford to offer him any words of comfort or reassurance, or even a smile, but I needed him to somehow find the strength to do this. I held his gaze, willing him to be strong.

"Get undressed," I snarled. I tore the cloak - my cloak - away from from him, threw it to the ground. It would be better than the bare stone floor for him, but not by much. Mercifully, Draco seemed to have snapped out of his stupefied sideration, and he obeyed me after only a few seconds. His gestures were controlled and precise, but the delicate rush of blood to his cheekbones betrayed his emotions.

I looked away from him, then, avoiding that too-vulnerable expression on his face, and at the assembled Death Eaters around us. How many there had had him, I wondered? And had he ever blushed like this, for any of them? It seemed improbable, knowing Draco as I did. He had always been more inclined to anger than shame. Like his father, of course. 

I had a moment of hesitation then, a desire to delay that contact, that irrevocable breach in our relations, for as long as I could. He saw it, my Master, and a cruel smile played on his lips. Fortunately, that was enough to give me the strength I needed. There was no point agonising over whether to do this or not. The only thing that mattered was how to achieve it, given the fact that at that particular second, I'd never felt less aroused in my entire life. 

My words came out clear and precise. I wanted Draco to obey without thinking. "On your knees."

As he knelt, I unlaced my trousers and pulled myself out. I wasn't about to offer them the spectacle of my nudity as well. I had a clear enough image of the little tableau the two of us were offering to our spectators. His grey eyes, identical to mine, full of restrained emotion, his lower lip trembling as though he were on the verge of speech. That soft, red glow on his cheeks.

Then he looked down, breaking that fragile, perfect balance of uncertainty, of expectancy, that instant where it had still perhaps been possible to put an end to this before it was too late, and took me in his mouth. 

There was a gasp from our audience. I was slightly startled to find a sharp, shuddering hiss had escaped my own lips at the contact of Draco’s lips on my skin. They felt like soft, yielding silk around me, his tongue at the same time burning and moist, snaking around the tip of my member.

I felt myself harden after barely a few seconds of his ministrations, felt the first tugs of lust urging me to close my eyes tightly and thrust deep into that offered mouth, my fist clutching a handful of that long, supple hair, forcing him to take more, forcing his mouth open to make him swallow me, as I had done countless times with so many bed-partners before. It was dark, and unholy, and the most terrifying temptation I had ever come across. 

I forced myself to watch him, to make myself come back to my senses and remember who this was. That I could not let myself get overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure of it, or act as forcefully as I was accustomed to.

His eyes snapped up back to mine for a second – had he felt my sudden hesitation, I wondered? – before looking back down, intent on his task. I cupped the back of his head with the palm of one hand, relishing the sensation of my fingers sliding through his hair, and I pulled him closer to me, but with none of the violence and urgency my body was commanding me to use. I kept repeating his name to myself, using the repeated thought of it to soothe and control my desire. But his mouth… his mouth, dear Gods, felt unbelievable. 

“That’s enough, Draco.” 

My own voice sounded hoarse to my ears. I pulled him up and kissed him, pushing his mouth open with my tongue, tasting him, tasting the bitterness of my seed in my son’s mouth, intoxicating as the taste of original sin itself. He melted into my arms, his naked skin warm against mine. I brought him still closer, until his cock was pressed against mine. His half-erection felt like velvet, the moisture left from Draco’s mouth making the contact deliciously smooth as I rubbed myself slowly against him, the moisture from the tip of my cock leaking on to his skin, making hi as mine.

My mouth left his lips to explore the sharp line of his jaw, ending in the soft unguarded curve of his neck, veins pulsing mutely against my lips. I caught his earlobe between my teeth and pulled, gently, and to my delight, he shuddered, his mouth opening in a silent moan. I felt myself smile at the sudden reminiscence this awoke in me, a sudden, clear image of Narcissa, young and as yet unjaded, answering in exactly the same way to that particular caress. 

I tested the similarity further, biting down as hard as I dared on that fragile crescent of flesh, and was rewarded by a very familiar tightening of the back, a very familiar sigh. I chuckled to myself and he looked straight at me again, his eyes sharp and questioning. I would have loved to share the joke with him, had it been possible, but from the corner of my eye I could see the dark-robed figures growing increasingly impatient with my lack of progress. They had not come to witness as I explored the intriguing resemblances between my son and my wife, after all. Neither had they come here to watch me kiss and stroke my son until his erection mirrored mine exactly. They had come for the kill. 

Regretfully, I untwined my arms from around Draco, placed the tip of my fingers in the middle of Draco’s chest, and pushed him away from me. 

“Lie back,” I said. I didn't dare say more, wasn't sure I would be able to keep my voice from betraying me. Simple logistics dictated it would be easier for him if I took him on his hands and knees, but something dark in me longed to see his face as I did this.

I saw him tremble a little as he lowered himself to the floor. He was avoiding my eye as much as he could now, his mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. I stooped over him, letting my fingers explore the smooth skin of his thighs, the dark bruises they had left there only making his skin appear whiter by comparison, as I contemplated what lay next. I endeavoured to keep an expression of detached amusement on my face. After all, it would never do to let them see the turmoil within me. It would never do to let my beloved Master see that he had indeed managed to affect me that much. 

Slowly, deliberately, I looked up, and met the Dark Lord’s eyes. 

“I will need something to prepare the boy, my Lord.” 

McNair, masked, of course, but how could I ever mistake that oily chuckle?, thought it appropriate to add some crude comment about my touching solicitude for my son. I let it pass without dignifying it with an answer. It was a perfectly reasonable request, for my own comfort as well as Draco’s, after all. I held the Dark Lord’s gaze for an interminable moment. Every agonising second of distress that he could wring out, he did, naturally. 

Under me, Draco’s breathing had turned markedly more laboured, hitching as though on the verge of half-formed sobs, though he was fighting it as hard as he could. I stroked the curve of his hip soothingly, trying to will some patience into him. I hadn't wanted him to take the time to think about this, to fully realise the enormity of what was happening.

Finally, Voldemort spoke, in that so familiar sibilant high whisper of his.

“Severus, I believe you have something for Lucius?”

One black-robed figure detached itself from the circle and handed me a crystal vial silently. Through the slit in the dark mask, his eyes were burning with undisguised rage. Dear Severus and his sense of propriety, so easily offended. I spilled some of the content on my fingers, slowly rubbing them together to warm the fluid. 

I reached down, stroking the puckered ridges of flesh around Draco’s opening with one finger. He was bruised there as well, though, mercifully, not torn. My not-insignificant girth often enough made this type of intercourse uncomfortable enough for my partners, and I didn't wish Draco to suffer more than was necessary. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he had lost the half-erection he had managed to achieve earlier. I was surprised and not a little relieved to find that I, myself, had not.

The satin softness of Draco’s skin under my fingers, with hardly a hair to mar the perfect sleekness of it. Draco's body was taunt as a bow, and he was tighter than anything I'd ever felt before. There are no words to describe the feeling around the tip of my fingers as I pushed in, forcing him open under me, the engulfing warmth within, the hard pulse of his heartbeat through the constraining heat. The strangled half-moan that escaped his throat as I twisted my hand slowly inflamed my senses as nothing had ever done before. And I realised that, despite the grotesque nature of the situation, despite the mocking eyes watching us, despite the humiliation burning in my son’s cheeks, - or, perhaps, to be entirely truthful, partly because of that very shame and distress in his eyes -, I had never wanted to possess anyone more in my life. 

I pulled my fingers out of him, a part of me regretting there was no time to do this more thoroughly. I yearned suddenly to experiment further with him, to watch his face closely for the reactions I might be able to elicit from him given time.

I used the oil I had left on my hand to anoint myself, and, grasping his hips firmly with both hands, I pulled him to me, raising his hips. He parted his thighs for me, in reflex more than anything else, I believe, offering himself to me, his eyes tightly shut. I whispered something incoherent to him, some soothing banality that I can’t recall, and I entered him. 

This was more than worth eternal damnation in the fires of Hell. I felt his body give in to me helplessly, felt him spasm with pain as I stretched him open, forcing him to accept me. I buried myself to the hilt inside that sweet, perfect body of his, bending down to taste the sweat glistening on his torso, then pulled out again as he whispered soft indistinct complaints, craving to take more of him, to possess him until every inch of his flesh was marked as mine. I lost all semblance of control, my earlier resolve to be careful not to hurt him any further forgotten. My body seemed to have its own will, claiming him with every thrust, taking him more fully, deeper each time. I felt him tense around me, one leg locked convulsively around me now. 

His face was a contorted mask of pain and ecstasy mixed, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, panting for air with each laboured breath. Perhaps he had not expected to feel this, perhaps the notion that this might actually bring him pleasure had come as a shock to him. He was visibly rebelling against it with every fibre of his being, and yet I could feel him arch his back further to accept my thrusts, pushing himself towards me in time with my movements. Then it got too much for me and pleasure rose, unstoppable, until I collapsed under the sheer weight of it, spilling my seed in him, whispering his name to myself once, reverently, like an incantation. 

I let my weight press against him, exhausted to my very core. As I was trying to remember how to breathe, I felt a sudden insistent tug on my hair and looked up. Draco was looking at me, with a pleading, almost pained expression.

“… please. “ he breathed, the need - and shame - in his voice driving another sharp pang of lust through my being. 

I reached down, running my fingers along the length of his cock, marvelling at the way he pushed into my hand, and grasped him firmly. He gave a long shuddering moan as I stroked him fast, so close that it took hardly a few seconds for him to climax, flooding my hand. I felt him tense and shudder around my softening member, then grimace in pain as I pulled out. My seed on his thighs was streaked with delicate strands of red - regrettable, but under the circumstances, not entirely unexpected.

I sat up and pulled him to me, so he was neatly cradled in my arms, his face pressed against my chest. I stroked and kissed his hair, soothing him, my arms wrapped tightly around his back. I could feel the liquid warmth of his tears against my shoulder as he wept.

One of the assembly threw a robe at me as I stood up, lacing my trousers back up. I used it to cover Draco, Draco who was still kneeling at my feet, face hidden in his hands. To hide more tears, probably, but I didn't begrudge him the comfort of crying. The bond between us had been deeply damaged, perhaps forever. How could there ever be a semblance of normality after this?

“A touching display of affection, my dear Lucius. I like to see a father who’s not afraid of loving his own son…” As if on cue, a dutiful snigger ran through the ranks of the Death Eaters. I bowed, my eyes fixed on my Master's. You old bastard, I thought calmly, you have no idea what you just did. I'll have your rotten heart in shreds for this.

“And, in view of this gratifying show of loyalty, I am ready to take you back," he went on - imbecile. Only he, with his grotesque arrogance, could possibly think I'd ever want to come back to him after this. "I am even inclined to give you this ungrateful brat back. Since you seem to have finally found a suitable use for him. Let’s call this… an incentive for fuller cooperation, in the future, Lucius?”

I started offering profuse, grateful thanks, laced with adequate lavish praise, but he stopped me with one raised hand.

“I don’t need grovelling from you, my servant. I can forgive one small lapse, especially from one such as you, but no more. If I have the slightest suspicion again, you will die. But.. not before you have watched your own son being ripped to pieces in front of you. Is that clear?”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry as paper. I would have to be careful, then. His long red snake eyes glittered with pleasure as he continued. “Now you can come and renew your vows to me, my most beloved servant.”

As I knelt to his feet and kissed the hem of his robes, protestations of love and loyalty rising automatically to my lips, I felt my heart fill with a strange, powerful happiness of a kind I had never felt before. I would find a way to bring an end to this monster. Not for my own profit, not in the name of any idealistic cause I believed in, but for my brave, beautiful son, and what he believed in. And then perhaps, somewhere, there could be some salvation for me.


End file.
